planting olives. I should go back and see the original ones--and then I'd
hasten on to Paris."

And, with a volume of Meyerbeer open in his hand, Gaston hummed:
"'Robert, Robert, toi que j'aime.' Why, Padre, I think that your library
contains none of the masses and all of the operas in the world!"

"I will make you a little confession," said Padre Ignacio, "and then you
shall give me a little absolution."

"For a penance," said Gaston, "you must play over some of these things to
me."

"I suppose I could not permit myself this luxury," began the Padre,
pointing to his operas, "and teach these to my choir, if the people had
any worldly associations with the music. But I have reasoned that the
music cannot do them harm--"

The ringing of a bell here interrupted him. "In fifteen minutes," he
said, "our poor meal will be ready for you." The good Padre was not quite
sincere when he spoke of a "poor meal." While getting the aguardiente for
his guest he had given orders, and he knew how well such orders would be
carried out. He lived alone, and generally supped simply enough, but not
even the ample table at San Fernando could surpass his own on occasions.
And this was for him indeed an occasion!

"Your half-breeds will think I am one of themselves," said Gaston,
showing his dusty clothes. "I am not fit to be seated with you." But he
did not mean this any more than his host had meant his remark about the
food. In his pack, which an Indian had brought from his horse, he carried